


A Bitter Glory

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Empurata, Functionist Universe (Transformers), M/M, Military, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: You can tell when the higher-ups decide to thaw out a new batch of sparks for the aerial corps, because your camp is suddenly full of unfamiliar mechs wandering around and looking lost. Oh, the look of disgust there would be on your face, if only you had a face to look disgusted with. They’re almost like real recruits, but with even less experience and no clue what they’re doing! Perfect!And you don’t have much idea of who any of the new mechs are, because you one hundred percent do not care. But when you overhear one of them asking, actuallyaskingone of the officers if there are any educational resources he can access while there’s a lull in the fighting— Oh Primus. You have to know which one of them is making that kind of mistake. You don’t get around to asking, because you’re too busy dying of laughter. But if he still hasn’t started to catch on what a bad idea it is to speak up or step out of line— You werejokingwhen you wondered if they knew how to feed themselves, but honestly, this mech is making you wonder.





	A Bitter Glory

**Author's Note:**

> I don't generally do chaptered stories (the last and only time was in 2013), and I like to finish a story before posting, but I think this story needs chapters. So we'll see how that goes. I started it a long time ago, and it's fully outlined but gets updated in fits and bursts, and I'm hoping that having pieces _finalized_ and posted will make the rest easier to tackle. This is new to me, so bear with me as I feel it out.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/185165144796/a-bitter-glory-spockandawe-the-transformers)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spockandawe/status/1132818939698962432)

You can tell when the higher-ups decide to thaw out a new batch of sparks for the aerial corps, because your camp is suddenly full of unfamiliar mechs wandering around and looking lost. Oh, the look of disgust there would be on your face, if only you had a face to look disgusted with. They’re almost like recruits, but with even less experience and no clue what they’re doing! _Exactly_ what you needed for this military encampment! Perfect!

You don’t pay much attention to them, because you never do. Used to be you might pay attention enough to lay some bets on mortality rates, but what’s the point anymore? Will eighty percent of them die in the first lunar cycle? Will _ninety_ percent? You are dying _(_ _ha_ _)_ of suspense, truly this is an entertaining and engaging way to spend your time.

Usually you just ignore them until you get done with an engagement or two and you aren’t stepping on half-thawed little newsparks every time you turn around. But high command, in their infinite wisdom, decided there was _obviously_ a major offensive coming and it was time to order a new batch of soldiers… and now you haven’t even had a chance to take a potshot at a rebel in weeks, never mind a proper engagement. _Nice._

So instead of sending all their new, useless soldiers out to get killed for a while before bothering to polish up the survivors, you’ve got a pile of lost, confused bots wandering around the encampment, getting underfoot. Being a _nuisance._ On the other hand, you also get to see that same pile of raw recruits making an effort to manage proper military drills. And it’s the best entertainment this camp has had in _years._ Did high command bother to drop any info in their heads at all, or was it just too important to get them here before that big offensive? The offensive that never materialized? Honestly, they must have been rushed off the production line so fast that you’re surprised they even know how to feed themselves.

The first day is the most ridiculous (so you make sure to grab the best seat in the house, even though it means you have to punch out Spinner to get it) (who are you kidding, that’s an upside, not a downside). None of the recruits know what they’re doing, and the officer has no clue how to handle them. And really, who decided to put Solar Flare in charge of this? Was high command _trying_ to put on a show for the rest of you?

It takes Solar Flare an impressively long time to realize that maybe, _just maybe,_ these mechs who just finished thawing yesterday might not yet know how to get into formation. Or how to follow drill routines. Or anything useful, basically. It’s amazing, he gets as far as trying to get them to run some live weapons drills before he realizes that this might be a bad idea. The bots around you _immediately_ start placing bets on how long until someone gets shot, who it will be, and Primus, _please_ let it be Solar Flare.

The attempted drill goes... about as badly as anyone with half a brain would have predicted. But Solar Flare manages to take control of them again before anything more exciting happens than someone shooting out a window in the command center. _Boring._ Maybe next time.

One of the recruits speaks up to ask Solar Flare a question, and you can’t hear from up where you are, but. You know. _Questions._ Can’t be having any of those! And ha, _wow,_ nobody taught these mechs a single thing at all before setting them loose. If they still think it’s allowed to be asking _questions,_ you doubt anybody bothered to beat the Functionism into them either before shipping them out. Oh yeah, that’s going to end well.

You might not be close enough to hear what the recruit said, but you’re pretty sure the entire camp can hear it when Solar Flare bawls out the sad little piece of scrap. A couple mechs place bets on what would have set him off like that, but ehhh, you’re having more fun just watching Solar Flare go. You guess maybe if you spend the whole scheduled drill time yelling at soldiers, that counts as more of a success than spending the time watching them trip over their own feet.

Just when Solar Flare is starting to wind down, someone speaks up again—and you _really_ need to get close enough to hear these things, because whatever it was sets Solar Flare off even worse than before. Forget the new soldiers not knowing up from down, this is the best part of the show. You hear a nasty-sounding _pop_ in Solar Flare’s voice, and ha, whatever he just blew out is almost definitely going to need a medic to patch it up. The amount of static in his voice after that stunt has mechs all over the rooftops snickering with each other.

The drill session ends in even more disarray than it began. _Beautiful._ And you can hear one of the recruits speak up again, just loud enough that you can catch, “Why—”

Oooh! ‘Why.’ A dangerous word. _The forbidden question._ Or you know, not forbidden, but pretty much a guaranteed way to bring any nearby officers down on your head. You try to get a glimpse of which one of the new soldiers was stupid enough to pull that stunt, but you can’t quite see past all the mechs milling around in confusion on the field, so you give up on getting any more of a show and leave.

And see, the worst thing. The very worst thing. The _absolute worst thing_ about these half-thawed, useless babies. Is that you had a room in the barracks _all to yourself_ ever since whatshisface, ever since… Rust… Storm? Rust Face? Whoever that was. Point is, ever since he got himself killed, you’ve had a room to yourself. And now the encampment is full of mechs who are being very inconsiderate and aren’t going out to get themselves shot, so your space isn’t just _your space_ anymore.

Whatever, fine _._ You’ll deal until there are actual fights again. And then if New Guy doesn’t get himself killed too, you’ll just make him move in with someone else. In the meantime, New Guy is a sensible mech with good judgment because he takes one look at you and hey! He’s spending almost no time in the room, and when he is around, he doesn’t try to make conversation (good) and tries to be as quiet and ignorable as he can (better!), and aw, he’s probably one of the best roommates you’ve ever had. Good for him.

You don’t have much idea of who any of the new recruits are, because you one hundred percent do not care. But when you overhear one of them asking, _actually asking_ one of the officers if there are any educational resources he can access while there’s a lull in the fighting— Oh Primus. You _have_ to know which one of them is making that kind of mistake. You don’t get around to asking, because you’re too busy dying of laughter. But if he still hasn’t started to catch on what a bad idea it is to speak up or step out of line— You were _joking_ about the new recruits not even knowing how to feed themselves, but honestly, this mech is making you wonder.

And, okay. You’re still busy aggressively not caring about any of the new mechs. But you do start to recognize this one recruit, if only because he must be the stupidest bot you’ve ever seen. Maybe because you already noticed him once while you’re still aggressively ignoring all the others. But it seems like every time you see him, he’s asking officers if he can have permission to do whatever thing, or he’s asking anyone who’ll listen about why things are being done _this_ way, all sorts of stuff that he should know better than to touch by now. It’s kind of beautiful to watch. If he hasn’t realized yet what an incredibly bad idea that is, then Primus himself couldn’t help him.

To be very slightly fair to him, there still haven’t been any real fights, and the scouting expeditions outside the camp haven’t even turned up any sign of the rebels. Plus even high command isn’t _quite_ stupid enough to send useless, inexperienced recruits out on scouting missions, not if they want actual info. And this camp is not exactly designed to be a terribly entertaining place. It’s fine, totally fine, all you have to do is make your own fun! Like counting every piece of metal sheeting on the barracks exterior! Recounting it a few more times to check your answer, because it was _that much fun_ the first time around! You’ve got plans to go count every rivet on those plates next, but you have to pace yourself, don’t want to burn out on too much fun too fast!

But oh. No matter how bored this one mech is. No matter how _stupid_ he is. Even if he can’t see the danger signs from the officers. There is no excuse at all for walking right up to the camp commander and asking if he can train to become an engineer.

It is the highlight of your entire stay at this encampment. You are _so_ glad you happened to be around to see this. You’re totally shameless about watching the show. And even though the recruit is looking right at commander Silvershot, even though he _has_ to be seeing the expression on the commander’s face, he still doesn’t let it go. _Amazing._ By the end, everyone else within hearing distance is staring too. Even the other clueless little newsparks. Even _they_ understand what a bad idea this is.

The last thing you hear before the commander finally loses his patience is, “I could build you something _interesting—”_

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ He could not have put that any worse. Honestly, he maybe could have even had a chance if he’d phrased it right. The fighting isn’t happening. High command is feeding all of you so you can… stand around and do nothing. All the stupid little glitch had to do was say that he could build the commander something _useful._

So it isn’t really a shock when he shows up at drill the next morning minus one (1) face. You were expecting it ages ago, to be honest. What does that make it, eight days to empurata? He still has his hands, so he wasn’t given the _deluxe_ treatment, but this still totally counts. You think this might be an all-time record!

Not that he’s learned. If anything, he just gets even worse about it. That very same day, you overhear him asking officers why changing your career path isn’t allowed. Trying to ask other soldiers if they wouldn’t prefer training for another profession (note: every other soldier refusing to have that conversation) (note: the recruit still refusing to learn a single solitary lesson). You guess it might be a little hypocritical of you to talk about… _behavior issues._ But hey. You’re hard to punish. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s dealing with.

You’re pretty surprised to see him even make it to afternoon drills at all. Intact? Alive? Maybe soldiers got more expensive when you weren’t looking, if high command still hasn’t ramped up the punishment. Still, just watching the way the officers look at him and everyone else gives him a wide berth, you give this maybe… a day, tops. And the guy still hasn’t learned when to quit. Whenever you get a look at him, his optic is all wide and unsteady and he’s all tense and jumpy like he’s looking for (expecting?) a fight.

So... ahh, you’re a big softie. Because that evening, you go find the nearest recruit and loom at him until he tells you where the local troublemaker lives (you even get a name! Genitus, barrack 129-C). Then you go pound on his door until someone answers. It’s not whatshisface. Whatever it was. Genitus. It’s his roommate, one of the other new babies, who answers the door. So you lean down, hook a claw around his neck, and tell him all nice and friendly-like that he’s living in barrack 264-B now. He’s a little slow to get a clue, and he hesitates, looking back over his shoulder like he’s going to find an answer back _there_ or something. So you tell him, with extra claw, extra friendliness, _he’s living in barrack 264-B now._

And there we go, that does the trick. He scurries off. Your New Guy and this New Guy can go be new guys together. Have some fun, kill a couple rebels. Whatever it is friends are supposed to do.

You step inside and take a look around, checking out your new home. Bare, boring, maybe a _little_ battered, identical to every other room in the building. Ah, _comfort._ What more could a mech desire?

And just look at that, your new roommate is even home! He’s just kinda... sitting on the edge of his berth, head in his hands,. Not really even looking your way. But hey, he’s not wandering around telling all the officers that Functionism is wrong. _Progress!_

He’s still not paying attention to you, so you wander on over and poke him in the side of the head. “Genitus.” Nothing. Another poke. “Genituuuuus.” Poke. “Genituuuuuuuuuu—”

“ _What,”_ he finally snaps.

He’s still… not exactly looking at you. He’s looking off to your left somewhere. Close enough! Ahh look at this, you get to teach again, just like at the Academy, back in the good old days— _pffft,_ no, you can’t even finish that sentence. But you sure can launch into a quick breakdown of basic Functionist philosophy. You can practically do the whole thing on autopilot by now. This point, which is _wrong,_ that point, which is _extra wrong,_ the other point that is—

It takes you a little while to realize that Genitus is not actually hearing anything you’re saying at all. Right. Okay then. You have have to wave your claws in front of his face for a nanoklik or two before he tunes back into reality, and even then he just jerks back away from you, as if you weren’t on your absolute most perfect very best behavior!

He does look up at you properly then. And ooh, he’s actually doing even less well than you thought. His optic is flaring and flickering much too fast, so much you can’t tell if he’s even managing to actually focus on you. His hands are just locked tight on the edges of his berth. Lucky for you that nobody’s bothered to train him with his onboard weapons! Plus— Aww. Now that you look closer, he’s shivering out to the tips of his wings. Okay, you feel a _little_ bad for him.

Now, how to put this delicately? “You need to _stop._ Or they’ll have your hands off by tomorrow night, and then they’ll start looking for _exciting_ ways to punish you.”

No response quite yet. You do think he heard you that time. Maybe they didn’t quite finish thawing the newsparks out before they set them loose. You click your claws in front of his face for emphasis. Click click. Clickety click. Click click clack. Would you just look at that. Just look at you and your not-hands. Hint hint. Wink. _Wink_ (it’s funny because you can’t do that anymore).

Finally he manages, _“Why?_ ”

One whole word! But that’s fine, that’s fine, you can work with this. “Bad question.”

“But—”

“ _Nope._ That is definitely one of the big problems here. You’re gonna need to stop doing that.”

“ _Stop—”_

“Better! But still a risky move. Probably ought to stay away from that one too.”

That gets him into action, at least. Genitus pushes you back away from him, then gets up, following you backward, and shoves you again. You know what, all things considered, that’s more endearing than it is annoying. Good for him! But then when you get a better view of the wild look in his optic, and hear the way his fans are running panic-fast, and see the way he can’t quite hold his wings or hands steady— Okay, so maybe. _Possibly._ You have not been the most sensitive about presenting this information. Maybe.

Right, okay. Try again. “Listen up and let me finish before you say anything. Most of this is going to be wrong and _all_ of it is going to be stupid, but turns out! What we think doesn’t matter. Pay attention and don’t interrupt when something doesn’t make sense, or we’ll be here all night.”

Functionist spiel, mark two. His optic stops flickering and flaring quite so much while he watches you, and you’re pretty sure he’s actually taking the information in this time around. You breeze through it all pretty quickly. Shockingly, you don’t especially enjoy lingering on Functionist rhetoric! You know it’s _dreadful_ of you, after all they’ve done for you, and you shouldn’t be so ungrateful.

You get through the whole thing without him interrupting you, _and_ without you interrupting yourself, which is actually more of a win than you’d been expecting.

And now… response? Yes? No? There’s silence for a few nanokliks. Then Genitus finally whispers, “I don’t understand.”

“Turns out, that doesn’t matter!”

He buries his face in his hands. “But I don’t _understand—”_

Hm. Looks you aren’t doing so great with the whole tact thing. Shocking! But you try again. “Nobody actually cares whether you understand or not. They only care that you follow along like a good little soldier. Otherwise...” Click. Clack. “They start taking body parts. As you may have noticed.”

Still not the most tactful. In your defense, you would have thought his shiny new lack-of-face was already the biggest thing on his mind. But he takes his head out of his hands just far enough to start feeling at the inside of his adjusted helmet. Figuring out where they tucked his new mouth. Poking and prodding at his new optic. You never had hands while you were missing a face, so hey, understandable, you would have probably done the same. But, “I wouldn’t touch that optic too much if I were you. Not like they’re wasting the _quality_ parts on people like _us._ I doubt your wiring will stand up to much stress, and that optic’s already shoddy enough without making it even worse.”

He doesn’t take his hands out of his face. “It’s not working right,” he says. “The focus isn’t working. There’s no resolution..”

“No. The focus isn’t _there._ Like I said. Not wasting quality parts and all that.”

Annnd you can see him getting more worked up the more he feels out where his face used to be. Yeah, probably for the best if he _doesn’t_ do that thing. Better to wait it out. Avoid reflective surfaces. All that business. He’s going to break something if he doesn’t cut that out.

Anyways, if he breaks that optic now, he’s not going to get a new one anytime soon. You catch his wrists in your claws and carefully pull his hands out of his face. From this close, you can feel how bad his hands are shaking. And now he’s staring up at you with that optic all wide and pleading and frightened, like _you’ve_ got all the answers or something. After a moment, you make yourself look away and drop his hands.

“You’ll get used to it,” you say.

There’s quiet for a few nanokliks, and you think that maybe this conversation is finally over. But no.

“It’s not my face. It’s not _me.”_

“ _You’ll get used to it.”_ From the corner of your optic, you see Genitus flinch. Mm. That probably came out a bit angrier than you meant it to. After a moment, you add, “You don’t have much of a choice.”

His hands go up to his face again, and you get ready to glare at him or yank his hands away, whichever, but he doesn’t go digging around again. He leaves his hands in front of his not-a-face, gingerly touching the edges of his helm, all the places where the metal probably used to rest against his actual face. You can hear how ragged and uneven his ventilations still are.

And you— You meant to let this conversation finally die, but you can’t help saying, “If you’re smart and lucky, you might— _might—_ get it back someday.”

He looks sharply up at you. “I can? How?”

“ _Might!”_ But he doesn’t look away, and you groan internally, but aw, he’s even shaking less now. “Follow orders. Do what you’re told. _Whatever_ you’re told. Stop taking initiative. Stop being creative. Don’t give _anyone_ an excuse to discipline you. If you don’t dial it back, you’re going to lose a lot more than just your face.” You click your claws meaningfully in front of his face. “After they decide that’s not enough, they keep _going.”_

He’s less upset now. He looks almost excited. Good in some ways, not-good in others. He says, “That will be enough?”

Primus, you never should have gotten involved with such a clueless half-thawed baby. But you never would have noticed him if he wasn’t such an obvious disaster. “No. That will be enough to get you a _chance.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/185165144796/a-bitter-glory-spockandawe-the-transformers)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spockandawe/status/1132818939698962432)


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